


Consumption

by PrincexPhoenix



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood Kink, Consensual Sex, Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26645746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincexPhoenix/pseuds/PrincexPhoenix
Summary: Hannibal tilted his head. "What comes to your head when you hear hunger, Will?"You under me, Will thought. You writhing under me as I satiate my hunger for you.Instead, he said, "Nourishment."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	Consumption

**Author's Note:**

> Because I can't resist a good murder husband pairing.
> 
> Fully consensual, if not exactly healthy!

Will stared at the wall. He was sitting in a chair; the chair in which he always sat. Hannibal commented on that once. 

_"Why do you always choose that chair, Will?"_

_Will shrugged. "It's the only other chair here. You glared at me the last time I went to the couch."_

_Hannibal's lips twitched into that half-smile he so often made. Will wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss it off Hannibal's face or punch it off. In the end, it often felt like the same thing._

_"Where one sits, and the way one sits, tells us something about them." Hannibal shifted, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "Tell me, Will. What does my posture tell you about me?"_

_That you're sharp and dangerous, Will wanted to say. Ready to pounce. Beautiful and deadly, like a black panther, hiding in the shadows, watching. Waiting._

_Instead, he said, "I don't know."_

_Hannibal looked disappointed._

Will's attention snapped back to the present as Hannibal walked in, wearing a plastic suit covered in blood and viscera. His eyes glanced over to Will, and then away, as if Will was an oil slick too slippery to behold.

"Will."

"Dr. Lecter."

"I wasn't aware we had an appointment."

Will's lips twitched into a half smile. "I wrote it down in your calendar."

A long pause. Hannibal coughed, delicately, and walked over to his desk. "I see." He laid a gloved and blood stained hand on his calendar. "Well, then. Let's begin."

"Begin." The word echoes around the room, bouncing off of the walls, a bird, trying to escape. "We've already begun, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal started to unzip his plastic suit. Will stood and Hannibal stopped, his expression blank puzzlement. Will stepped forward, closing the distance, listening to his heartbeat.

_Thump. Thump. Thump_.

Let me, Will's actions said, as he pushed Hannibal's hands aside and lowered the zipper. He never moved his eyes from Hannibal's. The zipper reached the bottom of the suit and Will stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back. There was a slight wetness to his fingertips, and the sharp, coppery smell of blood hit his nose. Hannibal shucked the plastic suit and held it out, never letting it touch the carpet.

"Wouldn't want the carpet to get dirty," Will said lightly.

"Patients come in here," Hannibal said. "They do not need to see blood and viscera."

"Not unless you want them to."

Hannibal nodded, his half smile back. "I beg your patience, Will. Please excuse me, while I put this in the wash."

"Why don't I just come with you?" Will asked, his hands curled into fists. "See your inner sanctum."

Something flickered in Hannibal's eyes. "Not yet," he said, and left.

Will looked at the bloody hand print next to his name as he waited. The pointer finger was directly under the first letter of his name, and Will played with different words in his head. _Wet. Winter. Whack._

Writhe.

Hannibal returned, polished and slick, tugging down the front of his coat unnecessarily. Will tapped the calendar.

"Writhe."

"Pardon?"

Will swallowed. "A word from the first letter of my first name. Writhe."

Hannibal considered this. He opened the first drawer of his desk and pulled out a blank notepad. He sat in his chair and gestured to Will's. Will padded over and settled, his legs crossed, his arms folded. Closed off, Hannibal would say, and he forced himself to relax and open his body language.

"There are many words that begin with h," Hannibal said. "Happiness. Hatred. Hold."

"As in grasping something, or attention?" Will asked.

"Both," Hannibal said. He tapped the end of his pen on the notepad. "There's also hunger," he said, tossing the word into the air carelessly.

It landed on Will's lap. "For food, or sustenance, or something else?"

Hannibal tilted his head. "What comes to your head when you hear hunger, Will?"

You under me, Will thought. You writhing under me as I satiate my hunger for you.

Instead, he said, "Nourishment."

"Nourishment," Hannibal repeated. "Indeed." 

He sat back in the chair and Will mirrored him. His face never gave anything away, and Will almost hated him for that. Would it be so hard to let one secret pass from his head? Just one secret, one clue into how he was feeling, and Will would let the matter crumble to dust. No, Will decided; he was faced with an immobile, immutable wall, a person shaped black hole. And he was going to get sucked in, if he wasn't careful.

Even if he was careful, a treacherous little voice said in the back of his head, he'd still get sucked in, still be pummeled and crushed, all while pondering the sheer beauty of Hannibal.

"Will?" Hannibal asked, polite concern on his face. "Did you hear me?"

"No, sorry," Will said, clearing his throat. "What did you say?"

"I asked why you made this appointment."

Why?

Why did Will make the appointment? He almost wished he still had encephalitis, and that he was confused and losing time. He almost wished Hannibal was still inducing seizures and blackouts, because then it would be easy. He wouldn't bear the blame for walking into hell, a Eurydice who turned her back on Orpheus and went back to Hades. He could almost see himself calling out, extending his arm, as he watched himself walk away.

Walk straight into Hannibal's arms.

"Walk," he said. "Walk is another word that begins with the first letter of my name."

Hannibal nodded. "Hurry is one from mine."

Will grinned. "Is this a bad time, Dr. Lecter?"

"I always have time for you, Will."

Will blanched. That was too close, too dangerous, an overture that drove into him. He looked away.

"I saw Alana today. She thinks I killed Freddie Lounds." His voice was harsh in the night's silence.

"You did," Hannibal said, his voice velvet. "And how did that make you feel, Will?"

Will imagined the horned man standing behind him, clawed hands on his shoulders, lifeless eyes staring down at the crown of his head.

"Dangerous," he said. "Deadly. Like a weapon."

"Weapons are useless without someone to wield them." Hannibal looked at the stars outside, their reflection glittering in his eyes. "Are you a tool to be wielded, Will?"

"No." Will's answer was curt. "I am the wielder."

There it was again - Hannibal's little smile. "Another word that begins with w."

Will was sure, now, that he wanted to kiss that smile off of Hannibal's face. With teeth. Hannibal would probably like that, would bite back, would tear at Will's shirt, bare Will to him, would _taste_ Will.

"Will." Hannibal's voice dragged Will free from his visions. "You reek of desire."

Will licked his lips. "Sorry," he said, hoarse. "I was thinking about-"

"Killing Freddie Lounds?" Hannibal suggested. "Or something else?"

About you, Will thought, and the words burned at his lips. The horned man tightened his grip, cold, rotten breath on Will's neck. So he spoke. The words were dense. They fell from Will's lips in a whisper, dropping straight to the ground. Hannibal heard, of course he did, and his expression was stone.

"I see."

Will opened his mouth to take the words back. Hannibal lifted a finger and, when Will closed his mouth and was silent, beckoned with it. Will felt himself rise, pulled forward as if by a force, except he chose to take each step. He chose to be so close that he could smell Hannibal, could see the tenting of his pants.

"You don't have to fear acting on it," Hannibal said, his voice low. "Like most men, I appreciate sex."

"It isn't about acting on it," Will said automatically. "I'm not here to just get you off and have that be that."

Hannibal tilted his head. "I think you'll find I am a considerate lover, Will."

"That's not what I mean," Will snapped, his nerves fraying. "This isn't a loving romp, Hannibal. We're not tender lovers, wrapped in each others' embrace. I don't want to be the only one participating. I don't want to be the only one initiating. I want all of you. Everything you are, everything you give. That is what I want."

"What would you have me do?" Hannibal asked, his knuckles white around the chair. 

It was the first sign of anxiety Will had ever seen, and a predatory instinct stirred in him. He knelt between Hannibal's legs, and slid his hands up Hannibal's thighs. He felt along the rectus femoris muscle, wondered if Hannibal ever tasted one, savoured it, and wondered what that looked like. Very similar to the face he made as he ate the ortolan, Will imagined. Hannibal looked down at him, a statue, cold and silent. Will unzipped the fly of Hannibal's pants, his breath shallow. Desire pooled in his stomach as he inched them down Hannibal's legs, exposing tanned skin, hair, and muscle.

"That's far enough," Hannibal said, closing his hands around Will's before Will could bring the pants down any further. "No more."

Will looked up at him. "Scared?" he asked, trying to rationalise how the idea of Hannibal being afraid made him feel.

Hannibal shook his head, refusing to take the bait. "No."

Will was a patient fisherman. He lifted one shoulder into a shrug and began to pull down Hannibal's briefs. His cock was revealed, erect. Will lowered his head, a breath away from the tip of Hannibal's cock, and thought about his next move. He felt Hannibal's hands rest on his head - not encouraging, and not stopping him. A calculated pressure, neutral in its meaning, yet somehow a warning.

Whether it was to continue or stop was up to Will. But there had to be a decision.

Will exhaled, and Hannibal shuddered. Then he swiped his tongue along the tip of Hannibal's cock, and passed the point of no return. Hannibal's fingers tightened in his hair as he took Hannibal's cock into his mouth, and then his throat. He bottomed out, Hannibal completely inside of his mouth, and looked up at Hannibal's face.

Blank. Incredulous fury washed over Will that, even like this, Hannibal was implacable. He thought about biting down, hard, severing veins and arteries and tendons. He thought about his jaws meeting, and he thought about swallowing. Would Hannibal's expression change as the shock and pain washed over him? As blood sprayed in Will's face, and he savoured the taste, would Hannibal finally crack?

Instead, he made an obnoxious sucking noise, and Hannibal grimaced. 

"Will," he said. "If you're going to insist on doing this, please. Do not insult me."

Will smirked and sucked again, making sure it was silent. He began to bob his head up and down, his own cock growing hard in his pants. He'd had enough girlfriends to know the technique. He'd experimented in college. Had Hannibal? Was this Hannibal's first time getting a blowjob from a man? Will was torn between a possessive need to be the only one, and knowing he wasn't.

Hannibal's hips twitched and his hands tightened in Will's hair. "Stop," he said, his voice just barely ragged.

For Hannibal, Will thought as he leaned back with a wet pop, that was tantamount to losing all control. He admired his handiwork; Hannibal's cheeks were flush, his lips were parted, and his pupils were dark and wide. Blown. Will swallowed, savouring the taste of precum and sweat on his tongue. Hannibal tasted sweet. Figured. Sweet as the apple, bitter as the truth.

"What's wrong?" Will asked, cocking his head. "Too much?"

"Not enough," Hannibal said, and he looked hungry. With what, Will had no idea. "Not nearly enough. You said you wanted all I can give. I want all that you are, Will. All of it. Every. Last. Piece."

He rose, and Will followed, posed, ready to flee, or to fling forward. Hannibal reached out, grabbed Will's wrist, and pulled them together, chest pressed against chest. Will could feel Hannibal's heartbeat, could hear his own in his ears, a constant drum.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Once, Hannibal told him that a measured heartbeat revealed a capacity for violence. Will thought it meant a lot of things. He grabbed Hannibal's head, pulling him back by his hair, and then kissed him.

Will broke the kiss, his lip bleeding. "What do you taste like?"

Hannibal closed his eyes, running his tongue over his lips as he savoured the taste of Will's blood. "I'll tell you, if you want to know."

"Everything you can give," Will reminded him, voice ragged.

"Boeuf bourguignon," Hannibal said. A shadow of a smile was on his lips. "I marinated the meat for two days in red wine."

"Who?" Will whispered. He wanted to kiss Hannibal again, but he had to know. He had to know everything first.

Hannibal's hands found Will's throat, stroked his windpipe, and then moved down to tear open Will's shirt. "No one you know," he said, softly. "No one you care about. A drifter."

"You'll have to make it for me sometime," Will said, cupping Hannibal's cheek. "A great feast."

"A bacchanal," Hannibal agreed, and shoved Will against the desk, bending him back, kissing him silent.

The wood dug into Will's back as Hannibal pressed him down, and down, as if trying to break Will open and fall into him. He scissored his legs around Hannibal's hips. His jeans were providing both friction and a barrier between him and Hannibal, and he wasn't sure he wanted there to be any barriers. Not when Hannibal was pushing his tongue past Will's lips, and teeth, gliding it along Will's tongue.

Hannibal's hands wandered, never still. They splayed against Will's chest, thrummed on his stomach, hooked on the waistband of his jeans, and played with the idea of slipping under them. Will bucked his hips up and bit Hannibal's lip. Hurry, he thought, unsure as to who he was begging.

"Stay still," Hannibal whispered into his ear, and Will froze.

There was silence, punctuated only by their panting, and Will tried to deny the surge of raw, naked want that hit him as he obeyed the order. It was a treasured secret, locked as deep away as he possibly could. Of course Hannibal could bring it out of him with little more than a word.

"Interesting," Hannibal said, his lips a ghost touch on Will's temple, his neck. "Willing. That uses your whole name."

Will growled and grabbed Hannibal's lapels. He planted his feet on the ground and, with a grunt, flipped them so that Hannibal's back was now against the desk, and Will lifted him up, teeth bared. He battled between against the urge to slam Hannibal's head into the desk over and over. Instead, he let Hannibal drop to the desk and left angry bite marks along Hannibal's neck. Now Hannibal's legs were wrapped around him, their erections rubbing together, and Will pulled his pants and boxers off. He tossed them to the side and unbuttoned Hannibal's vest with as much care as Hannibal paid his shirt.

Without warning, Hannibal bit his shoulder, hard enough to break skin. Pain radiated from the wound, and Will grabbed his hair, pulling him back, and kissed him. The taste of his blood filled his mouth, and he moaned at the headiness of it.

"Condom," Will managed between kisses. "Where do-"

Hannibal pulled away, his mouth thin. "I'm clean, Will."

Will stared at him, his jaw slack. His brain cleared the fog of arousal long enough to delight in Hannibal's offense, and grinned. "It's safe," he said, and took a step back. He already missed Hannibal's warmth, the feeling of skin on skin. Hannibal's frown more than made up for it. "I'm not going any further without one."

He leaned against the wall, tilting his head back and folding his arms over his chest. He was aware of the way his shirt fell open, the gently oozing bite, his bruised lips, and his erection. He watched Hannibal give him a once over, fighting with his expression to return to neutrality. His lips twitched downward once more before smoothing.

"Of course," he said, his tone even. "Safety is important, and it will not... break any intimacy."

Will grinned sharply. There was no tremor in Hannibal's voice, no lie in his words, but Will could see to the heart of him. There was more than a small pleasure in denying Hannibal this.

"But my condoms are in my bedroom," Hannibal said, staring straight at Will. "If you insist on it, we will have to retire there. Deeper within the house."

Deeper within him.

Will took the bait. "Everything we are," he said. "Everything."

"Well, then, follow me," Hannibal said, and turned on his heel. 

Will followed, and they walked deeper into the house, through snaking halls, and past closed doors. Secrets upon secrets. When they got to the bedroom, Will paused, his hand resting on the door frame. Past this was the heart of Hannibal. Where he was his most vulnerable. Where he bared his soul.

It was surprisingly dull for such an important room. Will stepped in and closed the door behind him. Hannibal looked up from his drawer, holding a condom in his hand. He extended it and Will brushed his fingertips over Hannibal's as he took it.

"You're going to need one too," Will said, opening the package. "For yourself."

Polite confusion. Always so polite, Will thought with a tinge of weariness. Always so blank. He unrolled the condom and began pushing it up his cock. "We don't want to ruin the bed linens," he said, nodding at the sheets. "Easier clean up."

"I don't think the use of a condom for a hand job is necessary, Will," Hannibal said in the clipped tones of annoyance. "It makes it harder."

"But I insist," Will said simply.

He knelt on the bed, his hand on the base of his cock, staring at Hannibal. The silence crackled with the tension between them. At last, Hannibal reached into his bedside table's drawer and pulled out another condom. The plastic crinkled as he opened it, and he pulled it over his cock. Will exhaled, his muscles taut as he reached out and pushed Hannibal onto his back. Will hooked his arms under Hannibal's legs and knelt in between them. Hannibal's legs wrapped around his hips.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking. Will moved first, grabbing the tube of lube on the table and applying a generous layer to himself. Never breaking eye contact, he positioned himself and then pushed, slow, testing the waters.

Hannibal shifted and pulled Will in with his legs, a movement that brought Will to the hilt within him. "You do not need to be gentle with me."

Will took in a sharp inhale, pleasure flooding him from the inside out. Hannibal was tight and hot around him, clenching and relaxing. Will ducked his head, panting, until the rush of feeling lessened to the point where he could think again. "I wasn't being gentle," he said with acerbity.

"Good," Hannibal said, and stroked Will's cheek. Then he slapped him, nails leaving scratches behind.

Will hissed, turning his head back and tangling one hand in Hannibal's hair. He held himself up with that grip, and though it must have hurt, Hannibal's expression never changed. With his other hand, he stroked once up Hannibal's cock, firm but measured. Hannibal's pupils widened, and he rose partially off of the bed. It pushed him more onto Will, and Will groaned and began to set a brutal, quick, punishing pace.

It was tricky to find a rhythm with the condom on Hannibal's cock. Will settled into one, after a few attempts, and gazed into Hannibal's eyes. The careful facade was breaking with each stroke, each thrust. The blank mask was cracking, pieces of it falling away, showing Hannibal's true self. His enjoyment of the moment, his lips parted in an exquisite circle. Will tasted it, tasted Hannibal's pleasure, and increased his pace.

"Will, stop," Hannibal said, closing his hand around Will's. "Stop."

Will blinked, dazed, and glanced down at his hand. The condom was split, and precum leaked onto his hand and down to the bed linens. Hannibal reached towards the bedside table, his fingers stretched out, and Will pulled the condom off and threw it to the side. His palm rubbed against the bare skin of Hannibal's cock, and Hannibal looked over, something like surprise on his face.

"I'm capable of mercy," Will said, and yanked on Hannibal's hair. "And great violence."

He stroked again and Hannibal came over his hand, white seed spilling down his arm, dripping onto the bed. Will placed his hand on Hannibal's hip, smearing the cum, and fucked Hannibal. Hannibal reached up and grasped Will's shoulders, bringing him down, holding him. As Will continued thrusting, Hannibal rested his head against Will's shoulder. There was a wetness there, and Will thought of blood and teeth.

It wasn't. Hannibal's chest hitched, and Will realised it was tears. Surprise mixed into his orgasm, and he grunted as he came. He wondered if he came because it was natural biology, or because he finally broke through that careful facade of nothing. He wasn't sure it mattered, entirely.

"There's no going back now," he said, pulling himself out of Hannibal and rolling off of him. "We've passed the point of no return."

Hannibal hummed once, and draped an arm over Will's chest. "Would you want to?"

Will shook his head. He gazed up at the ceiling. "Want is another word that begins with w," he said. "And I want a lot of things, Hannibal. But going back is not one of them."

"Good," Hannibal said, and pulled Will closer. "Neither do I."


End file.
